Chapter 3 #2
He kneels so they’re at eye level. Actually kneels. Not distracted. Not halfway listening. Not doing the fake adult thing where people pretend children are speaking while mentally checking emails.
He’s fully focused.
“What would improve the score next year?” he asks seriously.
Jillie considers this like a city official preparing legislation.
“More cookies.”
“Excellent feedback.”
“And maybe puppies.”
“Strong addition.”
“And less Darren.”
The kitchen goes completely silent. Jillie’s face falls immediately. “Oops.” My heart breaks a little. Because there it is. The thing underneath everything. She got attached too. More than I realized.
Colby handles it before I can. “No offense,” he says gravely, “but puppies definitely rank above Darren.” Jillie bursts into laughter. Relief hits me so suddenly I nearly sway. Colby stands again, brushing snowmelt from his coat sleeves.
He catches my expression briefly.
Something quiet passes between us. Not flirting. Not romance. Understanding. And somehow that feels volatile in ways that I don’t fully understand.”
The rest of the morning becomes chaos.
Absolute chaos.
Word that he is here at the bakery spreads through Briar Cove faster than wildfire in dry grass.
By lunchtime:
tourists line up outside Sweet Seasons
customers buy “whatever Colby likes”
someone leaves a hockey puck on the counter for him to sign
Meanwhile Colby acts like none of it bothers him.
Which honestly bothers me.
He carries supply boxes from storage without being asked. Refills napkins. Helps Mrs. Bellamy reach a top shelf despite her dramatic protests about “fragile womanhood.”
And somehow every tiny thing feels genuine.
Not performative.
Not celebrity polished.
Real.
That’s the problem, because “fake charming” I could survive.
Real kindness? That sneaks under your ribs before you realize the damage.
Around two o’clock, the lunch rush finally slows.
I lean against the counter, exhausted.
I haven’t eaten since dawn.
Not unusual.
Bakery life basically runs on caffeine and denial.
Apparently, Colby notices everything, because twenty minutes later a paper bag quietly appears beside my elbow.
I blink. “What’s this?”
“Food.”
“I gathered that.”
“You skipped lunch.”
Heat creeps into my face instantly. “I was busy.”
“You were starving.”
“I was functioning.”
“Barely.”
I stare at him. He shrugs slightly. “You get quieter when you’re hungry.”
My brain completely short-circuits. Because who notices that after two days?
Inside the bag:
turkey sandwich
kettle chips
chocolate chip cookie from Harbor House
No cameras. No audience. No performance. Just care.
Again.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Something shifts in his expression at my tone. Very slight.
Then Jillie appears between us wearing approximately seventeen stickers she somehow convinced customers to give her.
“Mommy,” she announces, “Colby says goalies are weird.”
Across the bakery, an older man wearing a Blizzards hat shouts: “HE’S RIGHT.”
Colby looks entirely unapologetic.
I shake my head slowly. “You fit in here way too easily.”
His eyes meet mine. And for one terrible second, neither of us looks away.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
He does. That’s the problem. By closing time, my emotions are officially exhausted.
The bakery empties slowly. Snow falls heavier outside. Main Street glows gold beneath winter lights. Jillie yawns dramatically from her stool near the register. Colby helps stack chairs without asking.
Again.
“This was weird,” I tell him honestly.
“One of the stranger weeks of my life.”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“That feels medically concerning.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. His expression changes immediately at the sound.
Softens. Notices. And again…dangerous. Everything about this man is dangerous. Not because he’s famous. Not because he’s attractive. Because he keeps quietly behaving like someone safe.
And I no longer remember how to protect myself from that kind of person.
Colby pulls on his coat near the door. Snow swirls hard outside now.
“See you tomorrow,” Jillie says automatically.
The words hit me instantly.
Too familiar.
Too hopeful.
I tense.
Colby notices immediately.
Something unreadable flickers through his face.
Then he crouches in front of Jillie carefully. “Only if your mom says it’s okay.”
Not: Of course.
Not: Definitely.
Careful. Respectful. Like he understands exactly why I’m scared.
Jillie looks at me hopefully. And against every instinct screaming in my chest…
I nod.
Her smile lights up the entire bakery. Colby stands slowly. “Goodnight, Sadie.”
“Goodnight.”
The bell jingles softly as he disappears into the snow. I stare at the closed door longer than I should.
Then Mrs. Bellamy appears from nowhere holding a broom.
“You are in enormous trouble,” she says.
I sigh heavily. “I know.”
Because the dangerous part isn’t fake dating Colby Reid.
The dangerous part is how real he feels when nobody’s watching.
***
The next morning at exactly five a.m., somebody knocks on the bakery door.
I crack it open sleepily in yoga pants and a hoodie.
Colby stands outside holding coffee and a tray of very burned cinnamon rolls.
Snow dusts his shoulders. “I attempted baking,” he says gravely.
I stare at the blackened pastries. “That’s actually a crime in this building.”
“I panicked halfway through.”
Despite myself, laughter escapes me. Real laughter this time. Warm, easy, definitely unsafe.
Colby’s expression softens immediately and standing there in the snowy dark with coffee steaming between us, I suddenly realize this fake relationship is already becoming something infinitely more complicated than either of us planned.